


in which blaine is a stripper at rachel's bachelorette

by reinventweather (theadmiral)



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadmiral/pseuds/reinventweather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the title says it all, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in which blaine is a stripper at rachel's bachelorette

**Author's Note:**

> because nightbirdblainers made [this post](http://nightbirdblainers.tumblr.com/post/48981820861/i-want-a-fic-where-blaine-and-sam-are-strippers), and i went with it (sort of, there’s no sex, but there is dancing! and emotions, they have emotions too).

Kurt’s doing the first tequila shot with Rachel on the other side of their apartment, so he doesn’t hear Santana open the door. He’s a little more aware when Quinn ushers them to the couch and makes them sit, Kurt on the far right, Rachel in the center as always, but it’s not until there’s a rather nice ass in his face that Kurt really knows what’s going on.

Sure, Santana had joked, but he never thought she’d actually go through with it- well, that Quinn would let her go through with it.

But here they are, a group of gorgeous guys, all dressed in what appear to be very nice suits, rolling their hips in front of them. A pouty-faced, blond guy dances up to Rachel as the rest of the guys spin around him. Kurt looks up, and what appears to be a curly-haired sex god smiles back down at him, eyebrows cocked. It takes Kurt a second to school his face back to an only mildly interested expression, but by then, the dancer has already spun around, rolling his hips to the beat.

Kurt leans back against the back of the couch, but the dancer only moves closer. His eyes are shut, head tilted back, and Kurt can already see the sheen of sweat on his neck (Kurt can already imagine licking that spot until it’s red and swollen). Rachel shrieks off to his left, and that breaks Kurt’s daze. He looks over just as the blond rips off the entire top half of his suit, shirt and tie and all. Rachel’s reaching out to touch, and he’s playfully swatting away her hands; Kurt laughs, the tequila making everything seem more absurd.

Kurt can hear someone clear their voice off in front of him and- really, did the stripper just chide him for not paying attention? He’s standing there, still moving to the music, but less so than before, and he’s got the most cocky expression on his face. Kurt sits back, folds his arms, and gives the dancer his best glare. The dancer, instead of backing off, dives back into his dancing, smirking in Kurt’s direction.

Convinced he can sit through this no problem and wanting to prove his point, Kurt devotes all his attention to the dancer in front of him. And sure, Kurt sees dancers every day at work (and school before that), but this guy is good; he’s with the music perfectly, though Kurt can’t find any trace of him concentrating on it either. (It might be because Kurt is too busy looking at the line of nicely trimmed hair that leads down into his pants.) The song shifts into something that’s less pop and more bass, heavy, trapping itself in Kurt’s head.

The dancer slows down, raising his arms up and rolling his ribcage. Eyes on Kurt, he runs his fingers through his hair, his curls dripping wet. Kurt licks his lips before he knows what he’s doing. He tries to play it off, but the dancer just smiles and turns around. Kurt barely has time to notice the dancer’s ass before his pants come off (and from the sounds in the room that Kurt barely notices, the pants of the rest of the dancers have come off as well). He’s wearing tight, shiny black booty shorts that cling to his ass, and Kurt has an immediate urge to touch, to slide his hands up the dancer’s thighs into his shorts and hold onto that ass.

Spinning back around again, the dancer spreads his knees and waves his hips, arms coming up above his head. Kurt tears his eyes away from the outline of the dancer’s (probably gorgeous) cock in his shorts and looks up, trying not to get distracted by the rivulets of sweat dripping down his chest. He barely succeeds, but when he finally reaches the dancer’s face, the dancer is looking back at him, eyes locked on Kurt’s. Biting his lower lip, the dancer thrusts his hips as the song ends. It’s not until the music is over that he looks away.

The girls groan as the dancers start to clean up until one of them pulls one of the girls in to dance, and they all shriek and dance along. Kurt tries to shake the weird feeling he has all of sudden, like he’s forgotten something, standing up. He heads back toward the kitchen for another tequila shot, leaving the noise of the dancing behind him, so he doesn’t expect the dancer from before standing at the sink. He’s not as naked as he was while dancing, but still close - he’s only pulled on an undershirt, and it’s sticking to his sweat-damp skin. Kurt thinks about peeling that shirt off his skin and running his hands up his chest, and it’s not until the dancer speaks up that he remembers where he is.

“Oh, sorry!” the dancer says, holding out his hand. “I just came in here for a drink of water. I’m Blaine.”

“Kurt,” he replies, shaking the dancer- Blaine’s hand. “Yeah, I can imagine you must be thirsty after-” Kurt trails off. “Well, let me get you a glass at least.”

Blaine laughs, open and warm. Kurt doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything quite like it before. “I appreciate it, Kurt.” Kurt tries not to feel self conscious as he turns around, reaching into the top cupboard for a glass.

“Here you go. I think we have a Britta filter in the fridge, if you want.” Well, it’s only polite, Kurt thinks. Blaine goes for the fridge and pours himself a glass of water before downing it all in one giant gulp.

“Thanks, Kurt,” he says, handing the glass over, a smile on his face, and Kurt sets it down on the counter without a second thought. “For the water, and for, well-” Blaine gestures to Kurt. Kurt’s not sure what he means, and it must show, because Blaine continues.

“I don’t always get such fantastic inspiration when I have to dance, is all. Sam signs us up for a lot of bachelorette parties, which are great, everyone’s really nice and the pay is good, but it’s not exactly what, uh, my target audience is.” Blaine seems to realize he’s been rambling and shuts up, looking down before meeting Kurt’s eyes.

“Oh,” Kurt eloquently replies. He has to process for a second before he can- “Well, you were fantastic. I don’t mind taking the credit but I think it was mostly your doing, not mine.”

“Maybe it was just the both of us together,” Blaine says, laughing a little and stepping a little closer.

“Maybe,” Kurt whispers, leaning in. They’re so close that all Blaine has to do is press in, and they’re kissing, their teeth clacking, Kurt’s fingers winding through Blaine’s wet mess of a hairstyle. Kurt can hear Rachel calling him from the other room but he tries to ignore it, opting instead for licking into Blaine’s mouth. Rachel’s drunk enough that she bursts in anyway, and Kurt and Blaine pull apart.

“No kissing!” she shouts at the two of them. “If I can’t make out with anyone, no one can.” With the she storms back out of the kitchen and shouts something at Santana, something about body shots. Kurt turns to apologize to Blaine (for getting caught by Rachel, for kissing him when he’s just working), but Blaine is just grinning at him.

“Guess you’ll have to take me out on a date first,” Blaine smirks, grabbing the glass off the counter and reaching past Kurt, pressing into his personal space, to put it in the sink.

“Do I?” he counters, raising his eyebrows.

“I have been to enough bachelorette parties to know that if the bride says something, it’s law. And the bride declared no kissing, so you’ll have to take me out on a date before you get another kiss.”

Kurt smiles; that’s actually pretty good logic. He doesn’t think it’s a bad idea to reward that. “Alright, a date. Let me have your number?”

Blaine just smiles and roots around the kitchen for a pen and a pad of paper before scribbling ten digits - with a 419 area code, Kurt notices, same as him - and handing it over. Blaine heads out the kitchen door, but not before turning back around to smile at Kurt.

“And just so you know, it’s five dates before you get your own private strip tease,” he says, and though he’s smirking at Kurt, Kurt can tell there’s something serious in his eyes.

“Five dates,” Kurt replies - Blaine watches, smile falling a little. “I think I can do five dates, but hopefully by the fifth I’ll have convinced you to agree to more.”

Blaine smiles even bigger this time, head ducking down. Kurt shoos him - he can hear the guys calling for him that they’re about to head out - and turns back to the tequila, but not before tucking Blaine’s number in his wallet.


End file.
